


Analogous to Terror

by Chaotic_Smutty (Anna_Hopkins)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Cannibalism, Food Kink, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, Implied/Referenced Starvation, M/M, Murder, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Rating May Change, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28124898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Chaotic_Smutty
Summary: (sequel toTaboo: It could only be called sublime.)Ron and Hermione return to the Forest of Dean.(But we're here for what comes after.)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 7
Kudos: 114





	Analogous to Terror

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Taboo (It could only be called sublime)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887814) by [Chaotic_Smutty (Anna_Hopkins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Chaotic_Smutty). 



"Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite   
the ideas of pain, and danger, that is    
to say, whatever is in any sort terrible,    
or is conversant about terrible objects,   
or operates in a manner  _ analogous to terror, _ _   
_ is a source of the  _ sublime; _

that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion   
which the mind is capable of feeling..."

\- Edmund Burke.

True to plan, Ron and Hermione returned to the tent a week later with an absolute tonne of food: there were stasis-charmed dishes of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, and bundles upon bundles of the cakes and cookies Harry always associated with Christmas at the Burrow that Ron’s mum must have made especially for them. She must have felt terrible about not having him join them this year: several of the wrapped desserts were treacle tart. But what made his face light up the most, more even than the rich bounty of groceries he’d requested - for much as he’d tried, one could not survive on meat alone - were the copies of cookbooks Harry had mentioned a need for in his very last Patronus message.

Hermione had wondered what he would want with some of them. What need was there, she’d asked, for a guide to butchering livestock?

(What need, indeed.)

“Now we’ve got potatoes I can make a proper stew with the rest of what I hunted,” Harry beamed, setting to the task without delay. He’d saved what seemed to be the tougher cuts just for this, magically preserved in bite-size cubes to obscure their origins. Soon, the delicious smell of stew was filling the tent, perfumed with herbs and spices Harry had longed for in his solitude; he only barely resisted sampling from the pan as he braised each piece, and suppressed a moan at the first ‘test’ spoonful of broth from the pot while it simmered, gripping the countertop so his knees didn’t give out from under him. The experience of such exquisite flavor hadn’t diminished with repetition - he brushed off his red face as a product of the heat from the stovetop.

While he cooked, his friends relayed the information they’d gathered through resistance networks run across Britain and even into France. Hogwarts, they’d learned, was suffering under the control of Voldemort’s regime; splinter cells had formed on the outside from groups of those who’d avoided returning to school, and those recent graduates who’d evaded the Muggleborn Registration, all of them joining in a loose coalition they called ‘the Rebellion’. Contacts between the Order and various Rebel cells had brought the news of the Taboo being reinstated, at cost of their capture and subsequent disappearance - and Hermione had leads indicating that those contacts and other people were being held prisoner in Voldemort’s base of operations, Malfoy Manor.

By the time the stew was ready for serving, with Ron having unwrapped a huge loaf of bread for them to tear pieces off of at the tent’s kitchen table, everyone was in agreement that their next step would have to be freeing the prisoners. Harry had a fairly good idea of how they’d accomplish that, as he claimed while ladling stew into bowls - the largest portion for himself, with extra meat - before digging in, stuffing his face as voraciously as Ron in the Great Hall.

So engrossed was he in his food, in fact, that Harry didn’t notice his friends weren’t eating until his bowl was empty. “Is it too hot?” he asked, still chewing the last bite. The bowls  _ were _ steaming, after all-

“No, it’s  _ spoiled,” _ Hermione said, face a rictus of disgust. “I can’t even eat it - how are  _ you _ eating it?” Ron nodded his agreement, pushing the bowl away from himself in favor of a third of the loaf of bread.

Spoiled?  _ His _ stew? Harry grabbed both of their bowls to test them - perfectly delicious. Neither of his friends would hear it, though: Hermione was adamant the meat must have gone bad and he hadn’t noticed. “It’s okay, Harry,” she tried and failed to soothe his offense at the accusation. “It could just be the preservation spells gone awry, or the Locket affecting your sense of taste somehow, speaking of which it’s really too bad we can’t study it more-”

He let himself be convinced to get rid of the remaining stew. It was the last of the meat he’d hunted, he lied. They reheated one of Mrs. Weasley’s casseroles instead.

And when his friends went to bed, Harry snuck the rest of the stew out from where he’d hidden it and ate it outside under a Muffliato, in the snow.

Further discussion of how to get to Malfoy Manor followed in the morning. Harry's plan only covered what they'd do once they were  _ in _ the manor; but to accomplish it they'd have to actually set foot in the building, and speaking of which-

“How are we going to  _ find _ the manor in the first place?” Ron muttered, squinting at Hermione’s map of England - she’d circled Wiltshire with a Muggle pencil, as they knew it was somewhere in that area.

Hermione hummed her agreement, poring over the list of missing persons she’d gathered over the holiday. “We  _ might _ be able to use a Point-Me,” she supposed, “but if they have anti-scrying wards…”

“..I’ve got an idea,” Harry said quietly.

It was as good an idea as Harry ever had - which was to say it was highly irresponsible and in retrospect could have fallen apart at any moment - but they all agreed it was the best they could get. So when the sun had set, the three of them stood in the clearing outside where the now-packed tent had been, and Harry drew the Cloak over himself alone, stepping back from his friends.

He drew his wand.

And recited, an invocation, a sigh:  _ “Voldemort.” _

There were more Snatchers this time than there had been in the past. They spotted Ron and Hermione immediately, getting them in Incarcerous ropes before either could put up a fight, and took a moment to perform a  _ roll call _ when all was secured.

“Reckon this’s the reason for all the-” one began-

“Doesn’t matter,” the group leader cut him off. “These ones’ve got a real bounty on ‘em. Y’recognize these faces, mate?”

Harry had predicted this: Ron and Hermione were top Undesirables, the ideal hostages to lure Harry into a trap as well as the rallying points of the Rebellion, and the Snatchers had standing orders to bring them straight to Malfoy Manor when they were found. The group formed up for mass Disapparition, and Harry just managed to grab the wrist of one of them before they Side-Alonged out of the clearing.

That the Snatchers were met in the entrance hall (Merlin, this place was a castle) by Bellatrix Lestrange and her husbands was a stroke of pure luck - the thugs were intimidated so badly by the Inner Circle Death Eaters that the one Harry had latched onto didn’t notice him letting go. And while Bellatrix prattled on about how she  _ wished _ she could torture Harry’s friends for her own amusement, alas, the Dark Lord would call for them soon enough when he was done with something or other (Harry had stopped listening), he took a moment to scan the room, trying to match it to the vague layout of the place that all the Voldemort-visions had put into his head.

Including one darkened corridor off the entrance hall that the Lestrange brothers kept glancing at, in snatches of seconds as though they were afraid to gaze in its direction too long. What was that?

Harry turned his full attention to the corridor as Bellatrix ordered his friends be brought to the dungeons - there was no need to follow them, dungeons were always underground, they’d be easy to find. He’d Silenced his clothes and shoes, and was well-hidden underneath the Cloak, so he could justify a little sneaking around.

Just a little.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant to be a oneshot; I couldn't take it any longer and made it two chapters instead.


End file.
